


The Unread

by Pouler (poulerslashes)



Series: Drabbles and Shorts [10]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poulerslashes/pseuds/Pouler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly that feeling would return, and he’d have to stop for a moment and thump his chest with his fist, and wonder why he still felt this way at his age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unread

To Ukai, it began as a feeling like an itch he could not scratch. Diffuse, uncertain, something under the surface – it lurked in the corner of his mind, quiet for most of the day when he could tuck it behind orders at the shop or exertion at practice. But when he had his last smoke of the day in the waning hours between dinner and bed, out on the landing of his fire escape with the cool evening damp and still around him – suddenly that feeling would return, and he’d have to stop for a moment and thump his chest with his fist, and wonder why he still felt this way at his age.

On his nightstand, next to his alarm clock, there was a small collection of 18th century poetry. It was brand new, its spine uncracked. He’d bought it some three weeks earlier, telling himself every day that he’d look at it tomorrow, and then maybe, finally, they’d have something to talk about that was not centered around volleyball.

Not that Takeda seemed to mind, of course.

"You’re not what I expected," Ukai blurted at him once, as they hunched together over the line-up spread out on his coffee table. He didn’t have a dinner table in the apartment, so they sat together on his dingy couch, beers open between them and videos from old competitions playing on his television.

Takeda blinked at him in surprise, then a slow, enigmatic smile touched his lips. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Ukai cleared his throat awkwardly and shuffled the papers together. “I guess so, yeah,” he said, and he stood up and went to the kitchen before he said anything else stupid.

It wasn’t that he’d really expected anything when Takeda first started coming ‘round the shop, demanding he come watch the volleyball team play – and Ukai had known, right from the start, the utter transparency of that request. He’d never been a stand-out player, and the neighborhood team aside he had no real qualifications. Takeda wanted his name, and truth be told, when the little rumpled guy dogged him day after day after day with undiminished zeal, Ukai had almost given in on that factor alone. If he was being honest with himself – and he was an adult, damnit, shouldn’t he learn to be honest with himself? – he’d rather the chase have had nothing to do with volleyball at all.

A small disappointment, but one he could live with. He was so used to small disappointments.

He’d expected Takeda to stop coming by once he came on in a more official capacity. Ukai had also expected him to stop coming to practice everyday, but neither had happened. Takeda showed up at the shop more often, it seemed, and brought beer by his apartment at least once a week, always with an excuse related to the team: “Can you explain this rule to me?” or “What’s going on in this play?” or “How do you think the first years are getting along?”

And each time, Ukai had let him in, offered him some dinner, shared the beer, and then sat beside Takeda awkwardly on the couch, wondering if he was reading too much into their knees touching between them, wondering if he was projecting his own desires and mistaking the casual contact for intimacy. He wavered between extremes – one day being absolutely sure that they were moving together in a subtle choreography, the next day totally convinced he had made it all up in his head, and Takeda was just as oblivous and generically kind as he appeared. The latter won out most the time, and each evening ended the same way, with Takeda leaving pink-cheeked and sleepy from the alcohol and Ukai left utterly unkissed.

"You’re not what I expected, either," Takeda mumbled drowsily at him one evening, when he overindulged and had to spend the night on Ukai’s couch. When Ukai went to bed himself, he’d looked across the front room to the slight figure reclining there – his shirt unbuttoned, his glasses set aside, his hair even more disheveled than usual – and something inside Ukai began to hurt. It felt like being benched, it felt  _worse_  somehow, feeling there was a gap he could never overcome, that he would always be on the side looking in at something that was not really his.

It would be different if he were smart, he told himself. If he were handsome. If he were any of the million things he’d planned to be and hadn’t managed to become yet. Ukai crawled into bed that night and promised himself he’d open that book tomorrow, this time for real,  _tomorrow_ , so that maybe,  _maybe_ , the next time this happened, he’d have something more interesting to say than “Oh, well, that’s kind of over my head, sensei,” when Takeda waxed poetic beside him on the couch.

He woke up the next morning to the smell of toast and bacon. In the kitchen he found breakfast ready for him, but the apartment was empty. There was a note on the fridge: ‘Thanks for always taking care of me! See you at practice!’ set in place with his favorite magnet, one shaped like an octopus.

_Today_ , he thought,  _today_ , and he bolstered his courage with his gifted breakfast and tried to take comfort in the fact that, for good or ill, by the evening he would finally know. At practice, Takeda looked even more harried than usual, with dark circles under his eyes and a slump to his shoulders. Ukai’s resolve wavered a bit, and he conceded that maybe it was better to wait for a day that didn’t involve a hangover and a night spent on a lumpy couch. So he put the decision off again and went home as usual, with plans to spend his evening as he always did.

And so it probably would have gone, if Takeda was not waiting for him at his doorway. He had no beer in hand, no dvd’s of old games, just his old school bag. He’d must have come straight from the school.

"What’s up, sensei," Ukai asked him cautiously.

"Ukai-kun," Takeda started. "I think I owe you an apology." His eyes darted around. He looked about as nervous as Ukai had ever seen him.

Ukai just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, it’s no big deal to drink too much! I don’t mind if you kip on the sofa now and then.”

"It’s not that, I…" He looked around again. "Maybe we should go inside."

Ukai felt a little bit of nervousness flutter around at that, but he quashed it down. He wasn’t a kid. He could deal with whatever was going to happen. “Alright, then.”

Inside, he made a beeline for the fridge and pulled out a few drinks. Takeda grimaced and held up a hand. “Tea for me, I think.”  
  
Ukai fished out a bottle and tossed it over, and Takeda just barely managed to catch it. “So what the hell are you apologizin’ for?” he asked.

Takeda fiddled with the bottle in his hand. He slipped his bag off his shoulder, set it next to the door in its usual spot with his shoes. “I think we’ve been operating under a misapprehension,” he said finally.

"Oh yeah?" Ukai returned casually. He hid his anxiety under a drink from his beer. The worst that could happen, he supposed, is that Takeda would never come over again. Which would probably be for the best in the long run, anyway.

"You see, I thought that…" Takeda wavered. "Well." He opened his tea and took a long drink.

Ukai bristled in the lengthy silence that followed. “Would you just  _say_  it,” he burst out. “We’re both grown-ass men here, just say it!”

Takeda blinked at him in mild astonishment. “Ukai-kun?”

"I can take it, alright," Ukai continued. "I’m not some kind of wilting flower that’s gonna melt into the floor." He knew he was mixing metaphors, but he didn’t care.

"You’re right," Takeda said. "You’re right. We can be mature about this."

"Of course we fuckin’ can," Ukai agreed roughly. "I’ll even start." He chugged the rest of his beer and slammed the can down on the counter. "I’m sorry!" he said loudly. "I’m sorry that I thought you might be coming over here ‘cause you liked me, and I’m sorry I’ve spent so much time thinking about sleeping with you!"

Now Takeda was staring at him in outright shock.  
  
"Oh," Ukai said, "is that surprising to you? Well." He cursed inwardly and rubbed his eyes hard with the fingertips of one hand. "I’m sorry about that too, then." What a mess this would be now. God, he wanted a cigarette. He wanted a shower. He wanted to get drunk and go to sleep and not have any dreams.

"Ukai-kun," Takeda said at length, his voice wavering, "do you know why I drank so much last night?"  
  
"Well, it wasn’t all that much, sensei, if we’re bein’ honest. You’re really a lightweight, you know."

"That’s not what I mean," Takeda said. He had that enigmatic smile again, and it gave Ukai pause. "You see, I was trying to get my courage up a bit. If I’d not fallen asleep on the couch, my plan was to come get in bed with you." His cheeks were darkly flushed, but he looked at Ukai with a defiant, unflinching gaze. "But, in the light of this morning’s sobriety…" He grinned abashedly. "I realized that it would’ve been a poor plan. And, I worried that you didn’t feel the same."

Ukai gawked at him. “Well,” he said in a strangled voice. “There we have it.”

"Yes," Takeda said, "I suppose it’s all out in the open now." He had the same look on his face that he’d had when trying to recruit Ukai to coach the team, the same gleam to his eye.

Ukai rubbed the side of his head awkwardly. “Maybe you should stay for dinner,” he said.

Takeda nodded. “I would like that,” he agreed.


End file.
